


The Amy Johnson Appreciation Society

by Biscay



Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: F/F, Home Fires 2016 Summer Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscay/pseuds/Biscay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Teresa decides, this is all Amy Johnson’s fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amy Johnson Appreciation Society

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @maryeuniice on tumblr, for the prompt "teresa/annie: where they're dancing and chatting (fluffy pls)".

Somehow, Teresa decides, this is all Amy Johnson’s fault. She can remember her father showing her the newspaper article he’d saved after Johnson became the first aviatrix to fly solo from England to Australia.

“No job for a woman,” her mother had said disapprovingly, clearing up after breakfast.

“The world’s changing,” her father had said, catching Teresa's eye over the toast rack and winking, “neither you nor I or even Teresa can stop it.”

Her father’s words echo in her mind as she tries not to stare at the woman across the room – definitely a woman, the uniform unmistakable. Curiosity stronger than caution has her asking Nick the Wing Commander for an introduction.

* * *

“It’s a pity she’s not a man,” says Nick, and as Annie catches her gaze, Teresa is inclined to agree. If she were a man, Teresa’s palms wouldn’t currently be sweating, her heart racing so fast surely everyone in the tent can hear.

It’s all in the eyes. Connie, on the first day of school, across the hall; Susan before that, during teacher training. Edwina, the lone Welsh girl in a class full of scousers – a spark of recognition, a kindred spirit.

It’s a pull that Teresa has spent most of her post-pubescent life trying – failing – to resist. She dedicates her life to the school, removes temptation as much as she is able, but then Annie is there, across the tent, and she holds her eye for a few moments too long. Teresa’s stomach sinks and her heart soars and the cocktail of emotions leaves her light-headed.

Nick is sweet but patronising, and Annie makes a beeline over as soon as there’s a break in the music and Nick is distracted by Sarah.

“Miss Fenchurch, right?” the uniform isn’t much different to the men’s, but where the padded shoulders and tie on Nick do absolutely nothing for her, on Annie they fit perfectly, the contrast of masculine and feminine pleasing far beyond aesthetics.

If Annie were a man, Teresa would shake her hand. As it is, she nods awkwardly. “Teresa, please.”

“Pleased to meet you, Teresa.”

“I didn’t mean to sound so foolish before," she says in a rush, "I know women can fly aeroplanes.”

“Of course,” Annie nods. She leans in conspiratorially, “don’t let Nick put words in your mouth.”

“My father flew planes in the war – the last war. We used to go plane-spotting, make models together-”

“I like a woman who knows her Fox Moths from her de Havillands.” A moment passes in which Annie gives her an out. Teresa can politely bow out of the conversation, return to the gaggle of WI members, and laugh at jokes about all the men in uniform.

“Not as impressive as a woman who can fly them.” Teresa says evenly, meeting Annie’s eyes.

“Would you like to dance?” Annie asks so confidently, so nonchalantly, that Teresa almost forgets to be self-conscious. The party has a higher concentration of men than Teresa has seen since the war’s outbreak, but some women have paired up to dance, and she thinks of Alison at Kate’s wedding-

“Yes,” Teresa says, taking Annie’s hand.

It’s a little awkward – they both try to lead and Teresa is mortified but then Annie looks at her with such fondness that she isn’t even sure why she’s blushing. The tent is so crowded that a respectful distance is impossible to maintain, and Teresa is close enough to be able to count Annie’s eyelashes.

Teresa wasn’t lying about her three left feet, and her nerves – about the dance, about feeling so comfortable with Annie’s hand on her waist – weigh heavily. But as the band plays on and the world doesn’t come crashing down, she begins to relax.

Then suddenly the air raid siren pierces the evening, blaring across the fields, and reality hits like a dash of cold water. She looks at Annie, feeling exposed, her heart in her mouth – but Annie gently releases her waist, squeezes her hand and it’s fine.

‘Fine’ is relative; they’ve got minutes before Jerry’s bombs will begin raining down, and Teresa makes sure she and Annie aren’t separated in the rush to the shelter. Annie took the lead in the dance, now it’s Teresa’s turn to guide the way.

If Teresa thought the tent was crowded, it's nothing compared to Frances’ basement-stroke-air raid shelter. The partygoers all cram into the small space, Teresa and Annie pushed into a far corner, and the smell of alcohol on men’s breath makes bile rise in Teresa’s throat.

“Are you all right?” Annie asks.

“I’m fine; there aren’t usually this many people in the shelter, is all,” Teresa says, embarrassed, “you must be used to all this.”

“There’s usually more men,” Annie drops her voice to a whisper, “some with even worse hygiene. Some wandering hands in the dark, too.”

“Goodness. This situation sounds almost agreeable by comparison.”

One of the Czech soldiers bumps into Teresa; Annie reaches over to steady her and the grip of her hand is firm and assuring. “I think some parts are quite agreeable.”

Teresa reflexively looks around the shelter, expecting judgement from the all-seeing eyes of Joyce Cameron, but she’s staring determinedly at Sarah.

Annie releases her arm, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“You didn’t,” Teresa says, shuffling a little closer, “quite the opposite.”

* * *

As they clamber out of the shelter, almost leaning on each other for support, it’s difficult to maintain a presentable distance. Each air raid feels like a lucky escape, a reminder that nothing can be taken for granted in wartime. Leaving Connie was hard, but losing her was a thousand times more painful; Teresa doesn’t want to live full of regrets.

“I’ll walk back with you,” she says firmly.

“Coincidence,” Annie says, “I was going to offer to walk you home. In fact, I insist.”

“What, because you’re the one with a uniform?” Teresa raises an eyebrow. “Besides, you’re a guest of Great Paxford. Frances would never let me hear the end of it if I wasn’t as hospitable as possible.”

Annie’s smirk suggests they’re at an impasse. “Where do you live?”

“Just up the road there,” she points.

Annie hooks her arm through Teresa’s. “You can walk me back, then.”

Surprised but pleased at her little victory, Teresa leads the way down to the track leading out towards the camp. The twilight is enough to see by while granting a reassuring level of anonymity; Teresa feels brave and walks a little closer to Annie than is proper. 

“What changed your mind?”

“You’re only a few minutes away,“ Annie explains, “the camp’s a good fifteen. This way I get at least ten more minutes with you.”

Teresa can’t help blushing but rolls her eyes for show. “Do they teach you lines like that at the WAAF?”

“Somewhere in between the telecommunications, parachute packing and code-breaking.”

Teresa knows Annie’s showing off, but it’s definitely working. “You're quite the Jill of all trades.”

“Would you consider enlisting?”

“I’m not sure I could do what you do. And I love teaching.”

“Teaching’s lucky to have you.”

Teresa thinks about Amy Johnson. “My mother doesn’t approve of female pilots.”

“My motto is anything men can do, we can do better.”

Teresa likes that. She likes, too, the way Annie smiles as she says it, that cocky grin showing off perfect teeth. They’re away from the village now, separated from the crowd that left the shelter together, lagging behind as they enjoy each others’ company. Teresa pulls them to a stop and, after a cursory look around to make sure they’re alone, leans across and kisses Annie’s mouth.

“Miss Fenchurch-” Annie says in surprise; her grin is less cocky now, but just as wide.

“I like how you think,” Teresa says, feeling very pleased with herself.

Annie meets Teresa’s kiss this time, still with that winning smile. It’s contagious, and Teresa smiles into the kiss too.

“Mmm,” Teresa manages after a few long moments, her eyes fluttering open.

“Better than a man?”

“I should say so,” Teresa says, taking Annie’s hand as they slowly resume their walk back to camp, “and my mother wouldn’t approve of that, either.”


End file.
